Lies
by WhenTheQuestionIsAsked
Summary: Spoilers for season 2! Watson tries to go on a date with Mary Morstan nearly 3 months after the death of his best friend but they end up taking care of a drunken Molly Hooper, who reveals more than she should about the day Sherlock died.
1. Chapter 1

John Watson had finally done it; he had finally asked Mary Morstan, the psychiatrist from the clinic, out on a date. His first night out since…Sherlock. Nearly three months. He was going to pick her up at seven, take her out to a lovely restaurant, and then a movie. It was going to be easy. And she wouldn't ask about Sherlock. She was an American and they hadn't covered his death that much. The press in Europe had had a field day with it. John hadn't read a paper in weeks.

He showed up at seven promptly and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" he heard her yell from somewhere in the house.

Unsure John stepped inside. "It's, um, John."

Mary started rushing down the stairs, still putting in an earring. "I'm not late am, I?"

"No, no, I'm early." He assured her and gave her a small kiss on the cheek.

"So where is it we are going exactly?" Mary said, grabbing her coat and a little black hand-bag. "I mean, am I dressed appropriately?"

She wore a medium length black dress that seemed to mold into her body. Her shoes were black and lifted but not too much and John blushed thinking that it was because she didn't want to be taller than him. Her blonde hair was in a simple bun and her ears shined with the only jewelry she wore: two diamonds.

"You look beautiful." He said. And he meant it.

Mary smiled and laughed a bit as she straightened his tie. "Thank you Mr. Watson, I must say, you clean up pretty nicely yourself."

John laughed. He was about to say something funny so he could hear her laugh again when the phone rang.

"Sorry, I'll just turn it off." He glanced at the caller: Mrs. Hudson.

"No, take it, it's fine."

John gave her an apologetic look as he put the phone to his ear. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, John, I know you have a date tonight, but…I've locked myself out of your old room."

"Doesn't Mr. Thompson have a spare?"

"No, Sherlock made me get it back from him because he didn't trust him with it."

John was silent.

Mrs. Hudson realized what she'd said. "Oh, John, I'm sorry."

"Do you need the key right now?"

"Well, I'm supposed to show it in an hour."

John sighed. "Alright, it's on the way, I'll be there in about five minutes."

"Oh, thank you John!"

John hung up and gave Mary another apologetic look. "My old land lady needs my spare key, do you mind if we stop there? It will only take a moment."

"No, of course not, that's fine." She seemed to mean it and smiled as they entered the black cab that was waiting for them out front.

"Mrs. Hudson, she sounds like a grandma."

John laughed. "Well, I wouldn't use that to describe her, but…she took care of us."

"Us?"

_Damn it. _"My old flat mate."

"Oh." She smiled and waited for him to continue, but when he didn't, she looked out the window and watched as they past shops and restaurants.

A few minutes later John informed her that they were there and he would just run the key up there.

"Would you mind if I saw your old place?"

How could he politely say no? He smiled cheerfully, trying not to let her see how much he hated the idea. "I don't see why not, if Mrs. Hudson doesn't mind."

John didn't bother knocking on the door, but just stepped right in 221B and called out for Mrs. Hudson who came out of her rooms with a smile.

"There you are, the potential renters called; they can't make it."

"Oh, that's a shame." he gave her look which she just brushed off.

"And I found my key."

John laughed. "Of course you did."

Mary gave him a confused look at his attitude but then smiled at Mrs. Hudson as she introduced herself. "Hello, I'm Mary Morstan, John's friend."

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, his old land lady." She gave John a look. "Not the housekeeper, no matter what he's told you."

Mary laughed. "Would you mind if I saw the old room?"

"No, no not at all." She led them up the familiar staircase and unlocked the door. Mrs. Hudson stepped in, then Mary, and with a deep breath, John followed.

The room was cold and stale. Most of the furniture was still there, to give it more of a "homey-look" said Mrs. Hudson.

"You don't mind, do you John?"

He shook his head.

"Are those _bullet holes_?" Mary asked, pointing to the yellow smiley face on the far wall.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "I will have to get that fixed, won't I?"

"I could pay for it," John began but Mrs. Hudson cut him off.

"No, John, I can take care of it. It wasn't you."

Mary laughed. "You had one of _those_ roommates, didn't you? The ones that steal your clothes and leaves the empty milk jug in the fridge?"

"Well he never left empty milk jugs." Mrs. Hudson said.

"And he never stole my clothes."

"So, he just put bullets in the wall?" Mary smiled.

"And left the oddest things in the fridge." Mrs. Hudson shuttered.

"My old flat mate was a bit of a scientist."

"Chemist," Mrs. Hudson put in.

"Addict,"

"Consulting detective,"

"The world's one and only." John finished.

Mary was smiling as she watched the little banter between the two. "You two cared about him very much, didn't you?

They didn't say anything.

"Well he sounds interesting. Hopefully I will get to meet him."

Mrs. Hudson was merciful enough to be the one to say it. "I'm afraid he's passed."

Mary paled. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. What…I mean, I'm sorry."

Mrs. Hudson put a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "It's okay, you may ask what happened."

Mary glanced at John quickly, who seemed to be focusing on something on the floor.

"What happened?" she said quietly to Mrs. Hudson.

But it was John who answered. "Suicide."

They were all quiet for a moment and as if by some magnetic force, they found themselves all looking at the yellow smiley face on the wall.

_It's as if he's mocking me, even now._ John thought. "Perhaps we should go to dinner."

"Well, I've made lamb." Mrs. Hudson said quickly. "I still make too much. You two would be welcome to stay for dinner. It gets so lonely without the two of you stirring up trouble, John."

Before John could say anything, Mary said "We'd love that, thank you!"

Mrs. Hudson led them down the stairs. As soon as John shut the door behind him, he felt a part of him come loose again. As if his heart thought it had the right to beat now.

"You really don't have to do this Mary." He whispered to her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, I mean, I could come out tomorrow and see her."

"John, honestly, a night in might be good. Besides, we've both been working so hard, a nice home cooked meal would be nice. No more Chinese takeout."

John smiled. It was true, he had had more than enough takeout for a life time in the last three months; though his fridge was full of casseroles and meats that Mrs. Hudson always brought over. He let them go to rot.

John dismissed the cabbie who was waiting for him outside and met the others in the dinky kitchen. Mrs. Hudson set two more places at the table in her small kitchen. She looked around the room with her hands on her hips. "We could always turn the heating on upstairs and eat up there; it has so much more space."

"Here is fine Mrs. Hudson." John said and pulled a chair out for Mary. She sat down and he pushed her in.

"Very well."

During the beginning of the meal, Mrs. Hudson asked Mary a few questions: where in America was she from, California; did she enjoy living in London, yes she did very much; Was she planning on staying long; yes, as long as possible. So on and so on.

And then John's mobile rang again. "Damn, sorry, I thought I had turned it off."

It was Lestrade.

"Who is it?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

He told her.

"Maybe you should pick up; it could be something important."

"He wouldn't need _me _for something important."

"That's not true."

"He can leave a message." John turned the ringer off and put the phone on the counter.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment until Mrs. Hudson spoke again. "It could be something important." She said again.

"I don't work for Lestrade anymore Mrs. Hudson. It doesn't matter what it is, I couldn't be of assistance. He probably accidently called me." That was a lie.

"Who is Lestrade?" Mary finally asked.

"My flat mate's old boss."

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Boss?"

"More or less."

Mrs. Hudson laughed again. "Pass the salt."

Mrs. Hudson and Mary talked some more about this and that. She laughed at Mrs. Hudson jokes and smiled a lot, but that could have just been out of politeness. John hoped she was really enjoying herself.

Suddenly there was a bang at the door as it opened. Mrs. Hudson and John were up in a flash. Mrs. Hudson pulled a pistol out of a cupboard and handed it to John who had it cocked in a second and pointed down the hall where the approaching footsteps were coming from. Mary hadn't even set her fork down yet.

Anderson stepped into the room and then jumped back when he saw the gun pointed right at him.

"What the hell?" he yelled.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" John asked, his gun still trained on him.

"I tried the doorbell."

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "It's broken."

"What do you want Anderson?" John asked.

"Lestrade is pulling Molly Hopper out a cab as we speak."

"What?"

"We were walking out of St. Bart's when we saw her: on the roof."

Lestrade stepped inside with a seemingly unconscious Molly Hooper in his arms.

"What's with the gun?" he asked.

John handed the gun back to Mrs. Hudson, who placed it back in the cupboard after taking the bullets out. "You can never be too careful."

Molly's eyes opened a bit. "Would you just take me home, I don't want to be here."

"Set her in here." Mrs. Hudson led them to the cozy little sitting room where Lestrade put Molly on the love seat.

"She was on the roof, drunk, and muttering something about him."

'Him' was understood by all, except the confused and curious Mary, to be Sherlock.

"I wasn't going to jump!" Molly insisted. She paled a bit. "Oh, I think I'm going to be sick."

Mrs. Hudson brought a bowl out of the kitchen and handed it to Molly. Anderson was grinning from ear to ear.

"I told you, when you first asked him for help, that he was just going to screw us all."

"Shut up Anderson." John, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and retching Molly said all together.

Anderson turned around and stormed out. Over his shoulder he called "Get your own cab back Lestrade."

Lestrade didn't respond but looked at Mrs. Hudson. "She should probably stay with you tonight."

"Well, wouldn't be the first time." Mrs. Hudson said and put a blanket over the slightly conscious Molly.

"How…how often does she do this?" John asked. He hadn't answered one of Lestrade's calls in maybe two months. He seemed to call at least twice a week.

"Enough times that I think if she did her own autopsy that she would hate herself." Lestrade glared at John. "You'd know that if you would pick up your bloody phone."

Molly tried to sit up but fell over. "I can take care of myself. I not as think as you drunk I am. Don't need a sitter."

And then she puked into the bowl.

On that note, Lestrade said. "I've got to go."

Mrs. Hudson showed him out as John sat in the chair across from the still puking Molly. He heard someone cough and he jumped. Mary was standing off to the side watching Molly.

"Oh, God, Mary, I am so sorry." He said standing up.

Mary stepped forward and pulled Molly's hair back as she started vomiting again. "Could you find me something to tie her hair back with, John?"

Unsure what else to say or do, he found a rubber band on the desk and handed it to her. She tied Molly's hair back in a messy bun.

"I'll call you a cab." John said.

"No, it's fine, I'll stay."

John blinked.

Molly stopped puking long enough to start crying. "He lied!"

"Molly…" John sat on his knees in front of her.

"No, I don't want to hear it John. You don't understand." She said. He could smell the vomit on her breath.

"_I_ don't understand?"

"No, you don't because, you didn't see!"

"I watched the entire thing Molly. I was there! Where were you?" he yelled at her.

Molly, sweet and innocent Molly Hooper, told him to go do something anatomically incorrect with himself.

"That's real grown up Molly." John said, standing up.

"I'm tired of this."

"Of what, taking your feelings out on a few pints or just arguing."

"Both." She put her head in her hands. "God, I just keep seeing him in my head, John."

"Molly, I think it's time you got some professional help." John whispered, touching her shoulder.

Molly pulled away and began to untangle herself from the itchy wool blanket as she spoke. "What, like you? When was the last time you went to your 'professional help'?"

John blinked again. He hadn't seen Ella innearly two months.

"You were his best friend, and you never saw." she said. "He didn't want you to see. But I saw. He was so sad and you never saw because he would pretend that everything was okay."

"Molly, please, don't do this." He didn't understand what she meant. Sherlock was never _sad_. Maybe depressed when he didn't have work, but never _sad._

"But I saw." she repeated. "And I said so."

"Molly,"

"And that day, I should have known. He said it would be okay, but then…I knew. As I watched him walk away. I knew. He promised he would come down off that roof and he never did." Molly laughed bitterly. "But I guess he did, didn't he? In the end."

"So did Moriarty."

"I should have stopped him." Molly said through tears. "Or called you. I dialed your number, but I promised him that I wouldn't call you."

"Molly, it's not your fault."

"No, it's his. He lied to me." She pointed to John. "He lied to you too."

Mrs. Hudson was standing in the doorway with a cup of tea, listening to this, with tears in her eyes. Molly pointed to her and said "And you."

She pointed to Mary, who was watching, uncertain of what to do. "I don't know who you are, but I'm sure, at some point he lied to you."

Mary gave a little wave. "Hello, I'm Mary, John's friend."

Molly nodded. "Molly Hooper, John's dead best friend's…what was I?"

"You were his friend Molly." Mrs. Hudson said, setting the cup of tea next to her.

Molly shook her head and laughed madly. "No, I was his examiner. That's what I was. I was his examiner when he was alive and when he _died_."

It was true. Molly had done the autopsy on Sherlock. John was suddenly back there, like some nightmare of the war or his most recent nightmare of watching Sherlock jump:

After the medics and pulled Sherlock's body away, John had passed out, right there on the side walk. When he had awoken several hours later, Mrs. Hudson was sitting at his side, sniffing and holding his hand.

"Sherlock?" John asked instantly.

A tear ran down Mrs. Hudson's face. "You should go back to sleep dear."

"Sherlock?" It was all coming back to him; the whole day, their arrest, being so angry at Sherlock he swore he would never speak to him again if Mrs. Hudson died, and then the call that turned into a "note", and the sound of Sherlock's body as it the pavement. His head hurt. "Where's Sherlock?"

Mrs. Hudson patted her eyes with a handkerchief. "With Molly."

And then John was pulling out his IV and getting out of bed. He pulled on his pants as Mrs. Hudson called for the nurse, who came in and insisted that he lay back down. He just pushed past her, his shirt buttoned incorrectly, and only one shoe on. He ran down to the morgue. He had just pushed the door open when Molly came out of the examining room, her face an emotionless mask.

"Molly?"

She looked up at him, for just a moment, and shook her head.

"No, Molly, you're wrong."

"He's gone, John." She whispered. "He's gone."

John was crying then and he was crying now as he watched Molly start to vomit again. He felt Mrs. Hudson's shaking hand on his shoulder. Molly passed out again. Mrs. Hudson, a silently crying John, and Mary sat there for a moment, listening to Molly breathe, in and out.

John wasn't sure how long they sat there or how he ended up at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and a shot of whiskey, but it was better in the small kitchen than in that stale, vomit smelling room, so he didn't really question it.

Mrs. Hudson had retired and it was just John and Mary at the table. She was pouring herself another cup of tea.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

John shook his head but the words just began to come out. He told her all about how he met Sherlock, their various adventures, and his death. By the time he was finished, the sky was beginning to get lighter outside and his he was losing his voice. "He was my best friend. I hated him half the time, but he was my best friend. He was genius, it doesn't matter what they say. What he said."

Molly had remained silent, laughing with John when he laughed, and crying as she listened to the very end. She was holding his hand now.

"He sounds like he was amazing."

"He was. He was a great man." _Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and one day, if we're very very lucky, he might even be a good one._ "He completely changed me."

They heard Molly vomit again in the sitting room and John laughed wetly. "Some first date."

Mary laughed. "One of the best I've been on in years."

She actually sounded like she meant it. Molly opened the door into the kitchen. She looked awful.

"Is there any tea left?" she croaked.

Mary poured her a cup and Molly sat down.

"I'm sorry." She said after she took a sip.

"You should apologize to Mary; you puked on her shoes about midnight."

Molly gave her an apologetic look. "I swear I will pay to have them cleaned."

"Its fine, Molly; who hasn't puked on someone when they were completely wasted."

Molly nodded and gave an appreciative smile.

John looked into his empty tea cup. "Molly, what did you mean when you saw how unhappy he was? That you saw and that is why he came to you?"

Molly swallowed. "I was drunk; I didn't know what I was saying."

"Molly, did you…did you see him before he went up on that roof."

Molly sighed. "When we were working on that last case…I talked to him. I told him he looked so sad when he thought you weren't watching. Like my dad. But I saw because I didn't count. And…I was leaving work and…he was there."

She took a long drink of tea before she continued. "He told me I was wrong, that I did count and I was right; he wasn't ok. I asked what was wrong and he said…he told me he thought he was going to die. I asked him what he need and he asked me if he wasn't everything I believed he was, would I still be willing to help him."

"Let me guess, you asked him what he needed." John smiled. He would have done the same.

Molly nodded.

"What did he want Molly?"

Molly didn't look at him. "He just said he needed me."

"And then?"

Molly shook her head, she looked like she was going to break down. "I just…I comforted him. Until he left."

Mary was the only one who saw it. She had seen a lot of tells on the people she counseled and Molly's tell was the way her eye brows twitched a bit. She was lying.

John said nothing else but looked out the window. "The bakery is opening. I'll run across and get some breakfast for everyone."

He left Mary and Molly alone in the kitchen, sipping their tea. As soon as Mary heard the front door close, she looked at Molly pointing.

"You're lying."

Molly froze. "Excuse me?"

"You said you just comforted him. But that was a lie."

Molly didn't say anything.

"Is Sherlock…God, this sounds ridiculous, but after everything John's told me…is Sherlock alive Molly?"

She still said nothing.

Mary nodded. "Molly, you should say something to John, just…something to make him feel better."

Molly shook her head. "I can't."

"John is hurting, so are you. You feel guilty for all the pain he's in, don't you? That's why you 'take it out on a few pints'?"

Molly's eye brows twitched again.

"Molly, was last night the first time, you'd actually gotten drunk? Have you been faking it?"

"You're like him." Molly said. "He would have liked you."

"What do you mean?"

"You see things like he did, not as well, but enough that you're going to get yourself in trouble Mary." It was the closest thing Molly had ever said that sounded like a threat. She felt sick about it but hoped Mary got the idea.

They heard the front door open again.

"Just tell him something Molly." She whispered. "If he is alive, he would want it too."

John stepped back into the room with a bag of doughnuts and a cardboard tray with three cups of coffee on it.

"Breakfast is served." He said setting the bag and the tray down.

They all dug in, starving. Molly and Mary didn't look at each other.

John looked at Molly over his bear-claw. "Do you believe it? That he was a fake?"

Molly shook her head. She was tearing apart her napkin absently. "No."

John and Mary talked about work a little bit, agreed they should call in today—no matter that people would talk. Molly stood and said she'd better go. He and Mary walked her to the door. She hugged Mary and apologized again. John didn't notice the look the two shared. When Molly turned to John she was smiling. "This is the first time we've talked since that day in the morgue."

"We should do it more." John said, smiling a bit.

"Coffee?" She asked hopefully.

"Black, two sugars please."

Molly and John laughed and he hugged her. She left them alone, with Mrs. Hudson, asleep, somewhere in the house, wherever her room was.

Mary wrapped her arms around John. "We're all alone, you know what that means?" she said seductively.

"We can go to sleep."

"Exactly." she smiled.

They ended up cuddling on the sofa. Mary fell asleep almost instantly, but there was something that was bothering John. He carefully got up from the couch and went into the kitchen to take care of their tea cups as he thought. When he picked up Molly's cup he found a little piece of torn napkin stuck to the bottom of it. He pulled it off and read it:

I LIED TOO.

John couldn't explain it, why he looked out the window at that moment, but he did. On the corner of the street he could see-even through all the fog-a tall man in a hunters cap and long black coat, the collar turned up around his cheeks.

"John?" called a sleepy from the sitting room.

He turned back for a second and then looked back at the street. The man was gone. John slipped the small piece of hope in his inner jacket pocket and went to Mary.

I LIED TOO.


	2. Chapter 2

"Greg, he's alive, I know it!" John pounded his fist down on the detective's desk.

Lestrade stood up and shut the door to his office. He looked at his friend. "John, the mortician declared him dead. You watched him fall and hit the ground. I'm sorry John but he's gone!"

John shook his head. "Molly lied. I think they must have had some sort of-of plan."

Detective Lestrade looked skeptical. "Did she tell you she lied?"

"Well, not exactly, but I found this," he handed him the little makeshift note.

"Is this a napkin?"

"Yes, but-"

"She wrote their plan out on this?"

"No, no, but see it says 'I lied too.' Right there." He nearly had to get on the desk to point the miniscule writing on it.

Lestrade read the message. "What is it you want me to do with this?"

"You have connections; ask them to look for him."

Lestrade sat on the corner of his desk. "If he was alive, do you really think he'd let anyone find him before he wanted to be found?"

"I saw him."

Lestrade finally looked interested. "When? Where?"

"Two days ago, when Molly left the note." He said. "He was standing on the corner."

Lestrade frowned. "The fog in that part of London was so thick you could have cut it with a knife all weekend John. You expect me to believe you saw all the way to street corner?"

"Damnit Lestrade!" John rose from his seat. "I know what I saw!"

Lestrade moved his coffee. "Have you been going to your shrink?"

John froze, as if he knew he had stepped into a trap and if he moved he'd trigger it. He spoke quickly, as he always did when he was angry or defensive. "W-w-what does that have to do with anything?"

Lestrade pulled a file out from a drawer. He set it in front of John. It had his name in big capital letters on the tab. "Because this says that you haven't been. When Sher—when we first hired you on as a consultant, I contacted Ella to see if she thought you were…able to take on the job. We stayed in contact. She emailed me last week and said you had ceased coming to see her about two months ago."

"That…that is unlawful. Patient privacy."

Lestrade put up his hand in defense. "I looked it up: everything I asked her was legal."

John inhaled and exhaled quickly. "So, you're not going to do anything about this?" he motioned to the piece of napkin.

Lestrade sighed. "John, I'm sorry, but there's nothing to do."

"But he's alive and—"

Suddenly Sergeant Donovan opened the door. "There's a floater found in the river. Looks like it's that missing kid."

Lestrade sighed. "Great."

Sergeant Donovan looked at John. "How's things?"

"Just fine, thank you Sally." He said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Lestrade rose from his seat. "I'll be out in a mo' Sally. Just let me wrap this up."

She nodded and with a quick look at John, she shut the door.

"Lestrade," he looked up at his friend. "Please."

Lestrade gave a long sigh. "Okay," he said finally. "I'll see what I can do. But if you'll excuse me."

John thanked him and left, shutting the door behind him. After exactly thirty seconds, he picked up his mobile and dialed quickly.

After a moment he said "He's just been in. Yeah. Okay, I will."

He hung up and after grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair he left.

John sighed as he sat down in the black cab. He really hoped Lestrade was taking this seriously.

"Address?" asked the cabbie from the front.

"Right, sorry, 221B…" he stopped.

"Sir?"

"Sorry, umm, just moved." He gave the cabbie his new address and then closed his eyes for the rest of the ride.

Once he had stepped inside his new flat, nearly twenty minutes from the one on Baker Street, he dropped his keys on the table and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. He popped the cab off using the counter and just left it where it fell. He walked around into the sitting room and nearly dropped the bottle.

"Hello Mr. Watson." Mycroft Holmes was sitting in the recliner in the middle of the room. His legs were crossed and his fingertips were pressed together, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Mycroft." He said. He hadn't seen Mycroft since the funeral. "Can I help you?"

Mycroft smiled. "I heard you were having some trouble with Molly Hooper. I was wondering if all was under control."

"Everything's fine."

"I heard she was having problems with grief."

"So she hits the pubs after work." John said hardly. "There's nothing wrong with that."

He, of course, had been telling her the opposite just two days earlier.

Mycroft smiled. "And you? How are you?"

"I'm just fine." He said for the second time that day, his voice on the edge of anger. "And how about you Mycroft?"

Mycroft smiled again. "I'm quite well."

"Well great." He could hear it now, the anger.

"Well, then," Mycroft stood. "I'll be off."

"Great, good seeing you." He walked Mycroft to the door.

When he stepped out, he turned back and opened his mouth to speak but John slammed the door closed. He took a swig of his beer and went back into the living room. Seconds after, there was a knock on the door.

He slammed the bottle down on the counter as he walked past. He threw the door open. "What! Oh, Mary, I'm sorry."

Mary smiled and let herself in. John looked out onto the street where a black town car was pulling away from the curb, the window rolling up as Mycroft's head disappeared behind it.

"Did he say something to you?" John asked Mary as he closed the door.

"Who? Oh the man in the car, yes, he asked my name."

"What did you tell him?"

She smiled and in a perfect Irish accent she said "I told him my name was Mary O'Neary."

John smiled. "Why didn't you tell him your real name?"

She shrugged. "I didn't like the look of him. Who is he?"

"He's…was my old flat mate's older brother." He grabbed another bottle of beer out of the fridge and handed it to her. "He works in government."

She popped the cap off, using the counter. "Ah, explains why I didn't like him."

John smiled. "Yeah, well, no one really does."

Mary looked around. "It's nothing like your old apartment, excuse me, _flat_. Did you work very hard at that?"

"I did actually. I'm glad you found it so easily."

He had texted her half an hour ago and asked if she wanted to come over.

"Well, you know the cabbies here are good." She said and took a sip. "But since you told me about the case, what did you call it, 'A Study in Pink'? I find cabbies a bit shady now."

John laughed. "Yeah, me too."

"So did you talk to your detective friend today?"

"Yeah, I did." He replayed the earlier conversation with Lestrade in his mind. "He says he'll help, but I think he was just trying to get rid of me."

He had told Mary about the note under the tea cup. He knew that Sherlock wouldn't have approved of him telling her so many things, but he just felt like he could trust Mary with anything. He'd known her for such a short time, but…there was something strong there. Maybe it was just the bond a person got with another person when they were grieving.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Mary asked.

"Sorry, didn't realize I was."

But she was smiling and this made him smile. They were so close he could smell her perfume. He started to lean in and was pleased when she started to lean in as well. Their lips were just about to touch when there was another knock at the door.

John pulled back. "Oh what now?"

"Maybe it's Lestrade."

"I doubt it." He opened the door and was punched in the face. Everything went black.

When John opened his eyes, Mary was leaning over him with a concerned look. Her blonde hair was like a halo of gold around her heart shaped face.

"Are you alright John?" she asked. "I called the police."

He sat up and as soon he did, his head felt like it was being ripped apart. He gasped in pain and put a hand to his head.

"Careful, you might have a concussion." Mary helped him up and sat him in one of the kitchen chairs. She muttered something about getting ice and came back with a wash cloth full of ice. "Here, just rest this on-"

He cringed as she rested the ice on his temple. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know, he knocked you out and then I hit him over the head with my beer bottle."

"What?"

She nodded to the door. He turned and saw the unconscious body of a young man, liquid and broken bits of glass about his head.

"_You _did _that_?" he asked.

She grimaced. "Instinct?"

The sound of police sirens made his head hurt more. He pointed to the body. "Look through his pockets for me, will you, before the police get here?"

"I already did." She handed him a folded up piece of paper. "This was all he had. Well, and a gun. I put it on the cabinet."

John put the make-shift ice pack on the table top and unfolded the paper. He felt a shiver run down his spine. It was a picture of him that looked like it had been torn from a newspaper. He was smiling and wearing a tweed cap. And in the corner, he could just see the profile of someone wearing a hunter's cap.

"He's an assassin." John said, his voice hard and cold.

The door was flung open as Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan came in, their guns poised to shoot. They saw the body of the intruder and Sally bent to feel his pulse. Lestrade came over to them.

"What happened?" he asked.

After Mary had relayed the story, John showed Greg the paper in his hand.

"This was in his pocket, along with that gun." He put the cloth of ice back on his head, wincing.

"Sally, get someone to bag that."

Once the girl had left, Lestrade opened the picture.

"You think he was here to kill you?" He asked.

"No, I think he was here for a cuppa tea." John said sarcastically. "Of course he was here to kill me!"

"But we can't be sure..."

John glared up at Lestrade.

"Alright then, we're sure."

John's eyes came to rest on the back of the picture. He stood up suddenly, making both Lestrade and Mary jump, and hurried from the room.

"John?" Mary asked, concerned as he appeared again, with a photo album.

"Mrs. Hudson made this sometime ago." He dropped it on the table and carelessly tore it open. It was full of news articles with titles like: **Brilliant Consultant Solves Smith Murder** and **Sherlock and Watson: Business Partners or Life Partners?**

John turned the pages quickly until he came to rest at a particularly long article titled **Consulting Detectives and St. Bart's Mortician Solve a Fifty Year Old Cold Case**. A picture of three people was posed under the tile. He took the picture from the Lestrade and laid it next to the picture in the article.

"It's from this article." The pictures matched.

"Isn't that Molly?" Mary asked.

The picture in the article was of three people: John, Sherlock, and Molly. They were standing on the steps of St. Bart's. Molly was blushing and trying to hide behind Sherlock's tall frame, but her face was clearly visible.

"Lestrade," he said. "Molly's in trouble."

"What makes you think that?"

"This is the only picture of the three of us."

"So?"

"This article was from a case last year. There have been hundreds of other pictures of just me or just Sher—or just us." He pointed to the picture again. "Why choose this picture?"

Lestrade looked doubtful. "John are you sure that maybe—?"

John slammed his fist down on the table so hard that Mary nearly fell out of her chair in surprise. "Don't bloody do that! Don't talk to me as if I'm a child! Yes, I'm grieving and that changes my paradigm on things, but do not act as if I am….lost."

They were silent as they watched John struggle with his building anger. He cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly. "I'm sorry, I just…I'm sorry."

"Why don't we go and check on Molly, John?" Mary asked, resting her hand on his clenched fist.

He looked at her and she gave a small smile. He nodded.

"I'll drive you." Lestrade said.

John held up a hand, the other held Mary's, and walking past Lestrade, he said "We'll take a cab."

After the silent ride in the cab to St. Bart's, John felt better. Mary hadn't tried to push him into talking or said anything at all. She just held his hand and watched out the window again.

Walking down the long hallway to the morgue on the second floor felt familiar in an almost good way. He could picture Sherlock walking next to him, on their way to solve another case. But then the thought was replaced by the memory of him on his knees, crying and begging Molly to tell him she was lying. She had just slumped against the wall and slipped down to the ground, watching him, her face full of disbelief.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he opened the door to the morgue. Cold air rushed past him, making him shiver through his jacket. The lab was empty. He walked past the different tables of vials and tubes until he found the door to the examination room.

Mary screamed as they walked in. "What the hell are you doing!"

Molly's hand, which was griping a riding crop, stopped in mid-air as they came in. Her eyes darted from the naked corpse to the terrified Mary and the bored looking John and she smiled sheepishly.

"I swear this is all for medical research purposes." She said, lowering the crop to her side.

"Testing bruising formations again Molly?"

"Yes, there's this case and well…thought I'd try it out." She set the riding crop on a metal tray table next to her.

"Can we talk?"

Something in John's voice made Molly's face scrunch up in fear but after a deep breath she relaxed and nodded. She turned around and hollered louder than maybe she needed to. "Marcus!"

After a few seconds of no reply, she hollered again, louder. "MARCUS!"

A tall, lanky young man with spiky hair which seemed to shoot off in all directions came running into the room, nearly tripping on the door frame as he did. He looked flustered and childlike.

"Sorry Doctor Hooper." He said.

Molly took off her rubber gloves. "Text me when the bruises on Mr. Johnson have formed, should be sometime in the next hour."

Marcus looked at the dead body and blanched. "Yes, ma'am. I mean, Doctor Hooper!"

Molly said nothing else and led the others out of the mortuary.

They went up to the hospital's cafeteria and sat down with a cup of coffee in each of their hands. At first they sat in silence, looking at each other, waiting for someone else to speak.

Finally Molly cleared her throat. "What's up John?"

He reached in his pocket and dropped the crumbled piece of napkin on the table in front of her. She glanced down but didn't look at it for more than a second.

"What about it?"

"What do you mean 'I lied too'?"

She said nothing as she stared at him. Finally she said. "Just ask something and I will tell you what I know."

"Fine," he took a sip of coffee. "Did you know before he went up there that he wasn't going to come back down?"

She swallowed. "No."

"Did he tell you that he planned to kill himself?"

"Not exactly."

"So, no..." He sat back in his seat. "Did you know that Moriarty was on that roof?"

"No. I wasn't sure. But I guessed…too late though."

"Did you help Sherlock in any way that night?"

"I found him a body." She whispered.

"A body?"

She nodded. She had gone pale. "He needed me."

"Molly," he sat forward so that he was a hairs-breath away. "Is Sherlock alive?"

Molly swallowed again. "I…I think he is."

"But you did the autopsy?"

"Yes."

"On Sherlock's body?"

"The face was mashed in when they brought it to me." she choked a bit. "Hardly looked human."

John felt his stomach twist and flip as he remembered the blood.

"What was the cause of death?"

"Broken neck."

"And the rest of his body?"

"Mostly broken bones."

"But is it possible that it wasn't Sherlock?" Mary leaned in as well.

Molly nodded.

Without another word, John pulled out the picture the assassin had had on him. He showed it to Molly and explained what had happened and what his current hypothesis was.

"Why would someone want us dead?" she asked, her face white as flour.

"I think _they_ think that we know that Sherlock is alive."

"But we don't _know_." She pointed out.

"It doesn't matter to them."

"Who's this 'them', I mean who could it be?" Mary asked.

Molly and John looked at Mary. "Anyone."

"Well, that's a bit paranoid, isn't it?" she tried to smile.

"Sherlock had a lot of enemies." John sighed.

"But if they think he's dead, why would they come after you?"

"Because they _don't _think he's dead. They know he's too clever to have jumped off that roof without a back-up plan." John realized that this thought had never occurred to him before in the last three months. _Of course he would have had a back-up plan! _He felt like smiling at the thought, the new hope.

"So what do we do?" Molly asked.

"We keep an eye out for each other." He smiled at her encouragingly. "I'm thinking about going and staying with Mrs. Hudson, she may be in danger as well. Maybe you should come as well. There's extra rooms."

"For how long though?" Molly crumbled up an empty sugar packet. "We can't hide forever, can we?"

"Just until we figure this all out, alright?"

Molly nodded. There was a small beep from somewhere on her person. She pulled a mobile out of her lab coat.

"It's Marcus," she said. "My corpse's bruises have begun to from. I've got to get to work."

John and Mary stood up with her. "Alright, text me when you get off and I'll meet you outside with a cab. We'll go to your flat, grab some things, and then we'll go to Baker Street."

Molly agreed and they parted ways.

Alone in the lift, a few minutes later, Mary laughed.

"What?" John asked her. His spirits had risen. They had a plan and that was one step closer to finding out where Sherlock was.

"Is it always like this with you?" Mary asked, leaning against him, smiling. "Full of adventure and danger?"

He nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Well," she looked up at him, her lips just inches from his. "I like it."

John had begun to lean down to kiss her when the lift ding, letting them know it was time to get out. The doors open and they drifted apart. They started to get out when someone ran into John.

"Sorry," said a man in nurse scrubs. "I'll watch where I'm going next time."

John nodded and he and Mary walked off. Before he walked out the front doors of the hospital he turned around and watched as the lift doors closed, the nurse's unreadable face disappearing behind them.

"She should have texted by now." John said, reaching into his jacket for his phone.

Mrs. Hudson placed a plate of fresh biscuits in front of him and Mary. "Oh, she's probably working late."

John put his hand in a different pocket, his face becoming serious.

"What is it?" Mary asked, worried.

"I can't find my mobile."

"Did you leave it in the cab?" Mrs. Hudson asked as John picked up the landline.

"No, I haven't used it since I called you at the hospital." He dialed his number, hoping he had left it in the loo or something. After it started ringing he put the receiver against his chest and listened for his familiar ringtone. Everyone was quiet. Nothing happened. John put the receiver down and then picked it up again.

"Who are you calling now?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Molly." After one ring it went to voicemail. _Hello this is Doctor Molly Hooper, sorry I missed your call, leave a message at the beep…unless it's you mother. I promise I'll call you as soon as I find a suitable husband. Beep!_

John slammed the receiver down. "I'm going to the hospital."

"I'll go with you." Mary said.

"No," he said. "If something's happened, you'll both be safer here."

"John," Mary said, pulling on her coat with a grin. "I think that's an insult. Mrs. Hudson can take care of herself."

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Yes, I very well can."

"Mary, please."

"Nope." She gave Mrs. Hudson a kiss on the cheek and a hug. "See you in a bit."

She started down the stairs as John stared after her, wondering what had just happened.

"I'm sure Molly's fine, John." Mrs. Hudson said, slipping another pan of biscuits into the oven.

John pulled on his cap. "Keep the gun on you."

Mrs. Hudson tapped her hip. "Always."

John ran down the stairs after Mary.

The cab ride to St. Bart's was silent again. But not a comforting silence. This time it was an intense silence which made John want to scream in frustration. Then they got stuck in Saturday night traffic. Once they finally paid the cabbie, it had been nearly an hour since he realized his phone was gone. He and Mary had to run to catch the lift before the doors closed. He ran into a man with a bouquet of flowers, who was texting and the man dropped his phone; John muttered his apologies as he picked it up. Then it hit him.

"Mary," he turned quickly to her. "The nurse. The one who ran into me earlier, I think he took my mobile."

Anyone else might have thought it was a mad thought—hell he thought it was a mad thought—but he could tell by the look on her face that she believed him.

He pushed the button for the second floor. As soon as the doors opened, he squeezed through them with Mary in tow and they ran down the hallway until they reached the double doors. He pushed them open.

"Oh, my God." Mary whispered.

The lab was torn to pieces. Blood dripped down the cabinets from smashed vials and glass littered the floor. He ran to the mortuary and flung the doors open. Papers littered the floor. The body that had lain on the slab earlier had been pushed off and the sheet that had been covering it was pulled over across the room. Marcus was holding it over a growing red stain on his chest.

"Mary, call the police!" he ran across the room and applied pressure to the wound. Marcus's eyes slowly drifted open.

"They took her." he said in wet whisper. "They took Molly."

**Reviews are what make my world turn around. Yes, I know it's sad, begging for reviews, but please, if you have any thoughts or anything you want to say—just talk about your day!—then review or PM me. Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay sorry this took so long! I was being Writer's Block's bitch for the past few weeks. Anyways, so this is the final chapter in this series. I hope you enjoy it. No Copy Right Infringement intended. All characters belong to BBC or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Thanks.**

**Chapter Three**

"Stay with me Marcus, come on! Stay with me!" John pushed the sheet against the open wound and Marcus gave a half-hearted groan of pain.

"I was supposed to protect her." he whispered.

John's brow furrowed. "What?"

"He told me to protect her, I promised." Marcus's eyes were drifting open and close.

"Talk to me Marcus, tell me what you mean, just keep talking to me." John said, shaking him.

"He hired us to protect you and Molly Hooper, just to watch you both and keep you safe in case…" blood began to drip from his mouth.

"Who's 'us'?"

"I don't know, I never met the other one." Marcus's voice was barely a whisper.

"Who hired you?"

"I…never…" Marcus eyes closed.

"No Marcus, stop, come on, listen to my voice." He held the young man hand in his own. "Tell me about your family or your friends."

"My father…" Marcus muttered.

"What about your father?"

"He…" Marcus's head nodded. "He…tell him I'm sorry."

John could feel the tears stinging his eyes as the young man's pulse faded and his hand went limp.

He was dead.

Mary ran into the room, out of breath.

"There's an emergency team on the way in, they—" She stopped as she looked from Marcus to John. "It's too late isn't it?"

John nodded. He felt Mary's hands on his shoulders, pulling him away from the body.

"John, we need to get out of the way and let the doctors do what needs to be done."

He allowed her to pull away and out of the room, which now had one more dead body in it. People pushed past them and began to work. He heard someone say "He's gone."

John picked up the telephone which was hanging off of the counter, the dial tone loud and clear. He reset it with one finger and dialed Lestrade's number careful and purposely.

"D.I. Lestrade speaking."

"It's Watson. Get over to St. Bart's. There's been a murder." He said, his voice hard. "In the morgue."

He hung up.

"He's going to worry the whole way over here that it's Molly." Mary said quietly.

"I know."

"And that's what you want." It wasn't a question and John didn't respond.

They stood there in silence until Lestrade came rushing in, Anderson and Donovan followed suit.

"Where is she?" Lestrade asked, his face full of worry. "Where's Molly?"

"_He's_ in there." John pointed to the mortuary. "Molly has been taken."

"Taken where?" Lestrade asked as he waved Anderson and Sally into the mortuary. "By whom?"

"We don't know." Mary said quietly.

Lestrade looked around the room, his eyes widening as he noticed the mess the kidnappers had made. He pulled a pair of blue gloves out of his pocket and put them on. His eyes set on something sitting on one of the tables.

"What's this?" he reached between two broken tubes. A white slip of paper with miniscule writing on it.

"It looks like a calling card," Mary observed.

Lestrade read it. "It says: If you want to see Miss Hooper alive again, hand over…Sherlock." He cleared his throat at the name and turned the card over. "There's an address for North London and a time; nine tonight."

John took the card from his hand despite Lestrade's protests. "You aren't wearing gloves Watson."

John looked at his watch. "There's only an hour and a half left."

"We'll call in a team and—what the hell are you doing?" Lestrade followed John out of the room, Mary rushing behind him.

"It'll take hours to get a team together and make a plan, and we don't have hours."

Mary pulled on John's arm to make him stop, as she got closer, he could smell her vanilla perfume.

"So, what we go in without a plan?" She asked. "Get ourselves killed?"

"I'll figure something out in the cab." He pulled away. "And you're not coming."

"Why the hell not?"

"It's too dangerous and I don't want you there."

Mary stopped reaching for him, looking as if he had slapped her.

"B-but, I could help." she said quietly.

"I've been doing this for nearly two years Mary, I know what I'm doing."

"Really, because it always seemed to be the other way around." Lestrade said in a hard voice.

John didn't look at him but continued to look at Mary. "Right now, the most important thing to do is to get Molly back and I can't be wasting the time I have. I'm sorry."

He started to walk away but stopped and walked back to her. He cupped her face. "It's been a pleasure knowing you." He kissed her for just a moment—perhaps the longest moment of her life—and then he was gone, the doors swinging behind him.

Mary straightened her composer, trying to hide the fact that she was on the verge of tears.

"Are you going to call it in or am?" Lestrade said from behind her. Mary stilled but she said nothing.

Lestrade took out his mobile and dialed the number that he wished he had never had to memorize.

"It's Lestrade. Molly's been taken and John's gone after her. Alone." He gave an address. An address in North London. "Yeah, I'll—" Greg stopped as he heard the doors open again and turned just in time to see Mary's retreating figure. "He's not alone anymore."

Despite what he had said, John couldn't think up anything that may help him when he faced the kidnappers. The traffic had been horrid and now he had under an hour to figure out what he was supposed to do.

_Lestrade was right,_ John thought sullenly. _Sherlock was always the brains. Was what I then? Why'd he keep me around?_

John paced outside the building. John had searched the address on his phone on the way there. It was an old factory, now used for storage, but once used as a freezer for cattle and swine in the eighties. It was a rather big building, three stories high, and the moon lit bricks were crumbling. Night birds flew in and out of the broken or shattered windows. There was a large door on the top of a steep stair case. An old wooden sign that read Troller's Freezer & Deli was hanging crookedly in the middle. Even from where he stood he could see the newer looking pad lock was lying broken on the top step.

"Just tell the truth." John said aloud to himself. "He's dead. And even if you believed he was alive—which you don't—you don't know where he is."

"Really, Mr. Watson." Said a cool voice from behind him. "I expected more from you."

And before he could turn to see who had spoken to him, he found himself, for the second time that day, knocked out.

John awoke on a cold concrete floor, his head, and wrists aching. His head from the two-by-four he had been hit with, his arms from hanging by his wrists from a pipe above him and his wrists from the too tight handcuffs that kept him to that pipe. He closed his eyes again and repressed a groan as a wave of pain hit him as he sat up straighter, relieving the pain in his wrists just a bit.

"John, are you awake?" he heard a scared whisper.

He opened his eyes again and spotted Molly, just ten feet away from him. Her back was to him, he could see her wrists were also tightly cuffed behind her and she was leaning against a protruding pipe that went to the ceiling.

"Molly, are you alright?"

"Yes." She said. "Just a few bumps and bruises. And you?"

"Well I would say I definitely have a concussion now." He half joked.

"I'm sorry John."

"For what?"

She didn't continue and he didn't press her. He was sure he knew. A door opened somewhere to his left.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Said the same cold voice he had heard earlier. The voice was male, and came from the shadows on the far side of the room. John couldn't make anything out but he was sure that it was just the three of them in the large, abandoned room. The only light came from the moon and streetlights that bled into the room from outside the broken windows.

"Who are you?" John asked and he heard Molly whimper.

"Would it make you feel better, knowing who I am?" the man asked, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Would that give you hope? Would you die happy knowing who it was who cut your life short?"

John was not sure why he thought he should answer—or why he gave the answer he gave. "Yes."

There was a dark chuckle and somewhere far off John heard thunder. Seconds later, rain began to fall on the tin roof above them.

"Then so be it." The figure came forward. He was a tall, graying man with a beard and mustache which was darker than his hair and gave him the unnatural look of appearing younger than he was stepped forward. He wore a tailor suit and walked with a slick, black cane with an ivory top, but he didn't seem to have any limp in his walk. He had the other hand behind his back. He stood straight, his head held high. "I am Sebastian Moran."

John didn't recognize the name. "What do you want?'

"I want to know where Sherlock Holmes is." He said simply.

"Yeah, well, try the cemetery." John said bitterly.

"We both know that Holmes is not dead." Moran said. "So let's make this easier."

"Where's your proof Moran?" John struggled against his cuffs.

Moran brought forth the hand he had kept hidden behind his back. Well, his arm since there was no hand to be seen.

"Because the bastard took my hand!" the man yelled, his façade of calm disappeared. "Not a month ago!"

John opened his mouth but no words came out. He swallowed and tried again. "It could have been anyone."

Moran hid his arm behind him again and shook his head.

"I worked with James Moriarty. I knew that he would fail and then it would be my turn to rise. I also knew that there was no way that Sherlock Holmes took his own life. I tracked him down. I found him in Switzerland. I tried to kill him and he took my hand. I saw his face as clear as day; it was Sherlock Holmes. Before he could run, I told him that he'd better keep a closer watch on his friends." Moran smiled maliciously, showing large, yellowing teeth. "I can see that he doesn't care enough about either of you to even have tried."

Words drifted into John's head, part of the final message the dying Marcus had given him: _He hired us to protect you and Molly Hooper, just to watch you both and keep you safe in case…_

All the doubt John had felt in the last few days, all the worry and the disbelief disappeared as he realized that this was the proof he need. _Sherlock is alive!_

He found himself laughing. Laughing and crying. Crying in relief and shock and surprise. He heard Molly giggle a little and wonder if she had just made this realization or if she was trying to sound brave. It didn't matter because he knew that Molly and he would make it out of this building alive.

"May I ask what is so comedic?" Moran said harshly, clearly annoyed that he wasn't as intimidating as he had hoped.

"Thank you Mr. Moran." John said with a whoop of joy. "Thank you."

"For what?"

The door opened again and a familiar voice filled the room and John's breath caught as the tall figure stepped into the light.

"Hello Colonel Moran, how's the hand?" Sherlock said grinning.

Moran turned sharply, his cane dropping from his grip as he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a revolver, aiming it at Sherlock. A shot was fired and Molly screamed.

Moran fell over, the gun falling from his now bleeding hand as he gasped in pain. Sherlock had not moved and his hands were in his pockets. John saw someone moving in the shadows behind Sherlock.

Sherlock walked over and kicked the gun from Moran's reach and leaned down. Moran tried to throw a weak punch at him with his injured hand but Sherlock just swatted the hand away and pulled a pair of keys from within the screaming man's jacket.

"Keep the gun on him." Sherlock said. John heard a gun cock from over in the shadows.

John watched as Sherlock unlocked Molly's cuffs. He helped her up and she wrapped her arms around him, crying. After a brief, but sincere hug back, he gently pushed her away and made her look at him. "Lestrade and Donovan are outside waiting. Tell them that they can come up." He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and frowned at a small but deep cut on Molly's eyebrow. "And have someone look at that."

Molly seemed reluctant but she hurried out the open door and John heard her running down the hall. Sherlock said nothing to John but stood above him and unlocked his cuffs. He gave John his hand and he took it. And as soon as he was on his feet, he punched Sherlock squarely in the jaw.

Sherlock staggered backward in shock and brought his hand up to his face, wincing.

"What the hell?"

John listed off every curse word he knew in a long stream.

Sherlock still looked shocked.

"Three bloody months!" John hollered. "You made me think you were dead!"

"I had to!" Sherlock yelled back.

Moran groaned from the floor. Sherlock and John looked at him. "Shut up!"

John turned back to Sherlock. "Why?"

Sherlock waved at the man writhing on the floor. "I had some things to clear up!"

"And you couldn't tell me?"

"Well I figured Molly would tell you enough." Sherlock said defensively.

And then John was hugging him. Sherlock hugged him back. Lestrade and Sally ran into the room, their guns ready and aiming. Sally's eyebrow went up at the sight of the two men.

"Should we come back later?" she asked.

Sherlock and John let go, slightly embarrassed. But then Lestrade was hugging Sherlock, nearly stepping on Moran's hand as he ran up to him. Sherlock seemed even more shocked by this than when John had hit him. He patted Lestrade's back awkwardly. "That'll do Greg."

Sally looked annoyed. She spoke into her radio. "We need a paramedic up here, someone's been shot."

The three men looked down at the whimpering man and with a shrug, walked over him.

John looked into the shadows. "Where's the gunman?" he whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't answer but turned to Lestrade. "If you have any question, you know where to find me."

They walked past the detectives and John paused as the scent of vanilla filled his nose. He looked at Sally who glared at him.

"What are you looking at?"

"That's a nice perfume."

She frowned. "I'm not wearing perfume."

"Come along John." Sherlock said from the hallway.

A while later, John and Molly found themselves in a cab with Sherlock on the way to Baker Street. Molly and John kept smiling at each other while Sherlock rolled his eyes at their obvious glee.

Mrs. Hudson's reaction to seeing Sherlock alive and standing on her doorstep was nearly the same as John's except she hugged him first and then let out a violent stream of curse words.

John felt like he was in a dream. The smiles and laughter seemed to make the last few months into nothing more than a nightmare he was already forgetting as he woke up. Molly couldn't stop smiling up at Sherlock who smiled back. There wasn't a romantic connection about it but more emotional.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said as they sipped some coffee and ate some Chinese food Sherlock had ordered on the way to Baker Street. "But why did you do it? If Moriarty was dead, why fake your own death?"

Sherlock opened his mouth but John answered for him. "We were in danger, weren't we? Moriarty had a back-up plan."

Sherlock nodded. "He had guns on you and if I didn't…jump…they were under orders to kill you."

"But why not tell us?" Mrs. Hudson sounded hurt.

"Too dangerous." Sherlock dismissed the idea. "I needed you to believe it."

"Well you see how well that worked out." John joked as he pressed the ice pack to the growing lump on his head.

They laughed and there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson rose to answer it but John was closer to the door and said he'd get it. He kept the ice pack on his head as he walked down the dark hallway. There was another knock.

He opened the door and Mary gave him a small smile. Her hair was dripping from the rain. He stepped aside to let her in but she shook her head.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And Sherlock."

"I'm great." He smiled and hiked his thumb towards the kitchen. "Come in and meet him."

She shook her head and drops of water hit John's shirt. "No. I can't, I have to pack. I actually…I'm going back to America tomorrow."

"What?" John winced in pain.

"I got a call and…I just have to go." She started down the steps and John walked out after her.

"Is this about earlier?" he asked her, turning her around gently. She didn't look at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you, I just…I didn't want you to get hurt. Mary, please look at me."

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wet and he couldn't tell if she had been crying or if it was just the rain.

"John," she whispered. "I have to go."

"Mary, please." He leaned in closer to her. His lips brushed hers but she pulled back and went to the curb, leaving him with the scent of vanilla.

"I already called a cab." She called over the rain. "Your best friend is alive and in that house. Go."

John wasn't sure what to say. Maybe she just needed time. John waited a few more moments for her to say something—anything—else but she didn't. He nodded in compliance and turned away. He looked back once more before he shut the door. She had her hand to her face. She was crying.

He shut the door and went into the guest loo across the hall. He didn't understand. He couldn't even fathom…why was she doing this? He grabbed a towel off the shelf and patted at his shirt and hair. He had really liked her…he loved her. John turned back around, dropping the towel and flew across to the front door. It was open slightly and he stopped dead.

_I know I shut that, _he thought. He leaned forward and looked out the crack between the door frame and the door. Mary was still out there…with Sherlock. He opened the door a bit more and listened as he watched.

"What do you want now Holmes?" Mary yelled at him. Her voice was different but John couldn't place what it was over the rain. "I've done everything you've asked of me, now let me leave."

John frowned in confusion. _What did he ask her to do?_

"Miss O'Neary," Sherlock said and held up an envelope. "I just thought you'd want your check."

_O'Neary?_ John's head hurt. _Check?_

"I don't want it." She turned back to the cab and looked up the street of any approaching headlights.

"But we agreed: you watch over John until I make my miraculous resurrection."

John felt his heart stop. Marcus said that Molly and he were protected. Mary was his. She had been hired to be with him. Suddenly he realized that he had smelt vanilla at the warehouse and now and back at the morgue hours earlier. It was Mary's perfume.

"But that was before!" she hissed at him.

"Before what?" Sherlock sad musingly.

"Before I developed…feelings for him." she looked at the check which was still in Sherlock's raised hand, her face full of disgust. "And now I've hurt him."

John felt himself stepping forward. Rain beat against him again. "Who are you?"

Mary and Sherlock turned to him. Mary looked like she was miserable.

"I-" She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"You were there tonight, weren't you?" he asked. "You were the gunman who shot Moran."

Mary nodded.

"_What_ are you?"

Sherlock decided it was time to take action. "I knew her father, a famous sniper, who passed some of his knowledge and skills onto his daughter. Mary O'Neary."

John laughed bitterly as he remembered how they had joked earlier, the name she said she had given Mycroft was Mary O'Neary.

"I'm so sorry John." She was speaking loudly enough so that he could place the change in her voice. She was Irish.

He glared at her and she took a step back.

"Sherlock," John said, his eyes not leaving her. "I'll join you in a mo'."

Sherlock looked from John to Mary and then with a nod, walked back inside.

John motioned for her to stand closer and she reluctantly walked up back to him.

"You lied to me."

"I know." She whispered. She was crying.

"I fell in love with you."

She choked a bit on her sob. "I know. I did too."

He felt so angry and wanted to start shouting. Her hair fell into her eyes and he pushed the wet strand behind her ear.

"I've never been so angry in my life." And he kissed her.

From the window, Sherlock rolled his eyes and shut the blind on Mary and John.

"So, what now?" Molly asked from her seat at the table.

He smiled and sat down next to her. "I find a way to come back to life, respectively."

Molly sighed. "Is that all?"

"Won't take too long."

Molly nodded. "But you're back now, aren't you? Really, really back?"

Sherlock grinned at her. "Yes."

She smiled. "I missed you."

He smiled back. "I suppose I missed you as well."

Molly smiled even wider. "It's all going to change isn't it?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, of course not. The world will change around us, but we won't."  
"Oh, well, as long as we won't." she laughed.

John and Mary stepped inside, their hands clasped together. John threw a blanket over their shoulders and he sat down next to Molly, Mary on his lap.

"What now?" John asked his best mate.

Sherlock grinned.

** Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"So how long are you gonna be gone?" John asked as he watched Mary bring yet another suitcase down the stairs.

"A week or two; however long it'll take to get my affairs in order and get out of my apartment."

John reached out and grabbed her as she walked by and pulled her in closer to him. She laughed and half-heartedly tried to get away. John kissed her neck and pulled her even closer against him and she stopped struggling.

"John," she said sadly. "I'm supposed to be on a train in an hour and the cab will be here in a few minutes."

"Well then, we have a few minutes." He kissed her neck again.

He felt her frown. "A few minutes, is that all it's going to take?"

He felt his ears redden and allowed her to break away. She giggled and pulled her suitcase closer to the door.

"So how has everything with Sherlock been? I mean, you said that you've been having a few rows with each other."

"Well, basically he's just been so…distant." John leaned against the wall. "Like he wants to try to get things back to normal but he just can't. I'm a little worried—"

"Well of course you're worried: your best mate, someone you loved like a brother, commits suicide after a course of events which were already taking a toll on you and then months later after you nearly die, you find out he's alive and you'd been lied to by the people you trusted most and now he just want's everything to go back normal, but of course it just can't, because he hurt you and now with this whole introducing him back to society plan you have to lie to everyone and you don't even know the whole truth yourself; you have every right to be worried and even angry."

John gave her a moment to catch her breath after her fast speech and then put his hands on her shoulders comfortingly. "I was going to say I'm a little worried he won't be able to pay his share of the rent for a while and Mrs. Hudson will kick us out."

Mary looked disappointed. "Oh."

John slid his arms around her waist and pulled her in again. "And then I wouldn't have a place to live…or would I?"

He leaned down and kissed her neck again and she giggled.

"John," she breathed. "We talked about this; we've moved too fast as it is. I mean we said I love you when we had only been seeing each other for three days. That's too fast."

He inhaled her vanilla perfume. "Well maybe we shouldn't slow down now."

Outside a cabbie honked and they both sighed.

"That'll be me." Mary said and hugged him.

"Call me when you get there." He hugged her back.

"I will. And you know Mrs. Hudson would never kick you out." She kissed him and tore away quickly. Before he knew it she was out the door with her three suitcases, asking him if he would lock up. Now he was alone.

John sighed. His mobile chirped, informing him he had a text message. He dug for his phone frantically, hoping it was Mary telling him goodbye or sending digital kisses. But it was just Sherlock.

**At St. Bart's with Molly. Lestrade**

**on his way. Come immediately.**

**SH**

John sighed again and left the house, locking up behind him. _Here we go._

"Molly will you hand me that vial there?" Sherlock's eyes didn't leave the lens of the microscope as he pointed. He felt a cold glass tube in his hand and Molly's warm fingers. She pulled away quickly and Sherlock frowned.

"Are you worried about the press conference this morning?" Molly asked nervously a few minutes later.

"No." Sherlock said instantly. "Should I be?"

Molly got flustered. "No, I mean, I don't see why, but I'd be nervous."

"Why?"

"Well I…I'm not sure. But I would be."

"That is irrational." Sherlock observed, adjusting the lens with his long fingers.

"Yes I guess it is." Molly said quietly and turned around to fiddle with whatever she could.

Sherlock looked over at her, feeling _slightly _guilty. Molly had been through so much in the last few months. Helping him stage a suicide (even though she hadn't known it), his death, her kidnapping, finding out he was alive. And as soon as he made his debut back into society she would most likely be bombarded by the press.

He looked back in his lens. "But I suppose," he said, trying to sound casual but sure he was failing. "It's only human, to be nervous, that is."

"Yes I suppose it is."

Sherlock wasn't sure why but he looked back her and their eyes met. She was smiling sadly. Sherlock wondered why she was sad, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her even though he wanted to.

"Did I get here before Greg?" John asked as he stepped into the lab. Sherlock and Molly's eyes tore away from each other.

John could feel the sudden awkwardness in the room. "Should I, um, wait outside for Lestrade?"

Before either of them could give mumbled answers Lestrade came into the room followed by Mycroft Holmes.

"What are you doing here?" John asked him harshly.

Mycroft smiled. "Well, _someone _had to come up with a cover story for Sherlock's…misfortune."

John saw Sherlock's eyes roll.

John smiled as the sudden notion came across him. "You didn't know either."

Mycroft's smile faltered. "That hardly matters now."

"But it does matter that you sold your brother out to Moriarty." John couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"I didn't just hear that." Lestrade said. "I have plausible deniability."

"John, as much as I don't want to admit it, Mycroft can make this easier on all of us. So let's just leave it at that." Sherlock looked closely at the vial Molly had handed him.

"It doesn't bother you that he gave away all of your information to Moriarty?" John grumped.

Lestrade took a deep breath. "I'm going to wait outside. This is not my division."

"I will just be more careful in the future when I speak." Mycroft said.

"It's not that simple!" he looked at Sherlock, who wasn't paying attention. "Aren't you angry at all?"

He shook the vial twice and handed it to Molly without a word otherwise. "Shall we go?"

John placed his thumb and pointer finger on the bridge of his nose, trying to hamper the pain in his head. "You're all mad."

Sherlock pulled his coat on, the collar turned up and tied his scarf neatly in place. Molly opened a drawer and pulled out a deerstalker cap with a smile. "You might want this as well."

Sherlock grimaced but took the cap and placed it on his head. "Oh God, let's get this over with."

John looked at Sherlock. "Who did know?"

"As my brother already said, it hardly matters now, John."

"Just one name." John said. "I think you can grant me that."

He pushed the mortuary door open with his back. He grinned. "Lestrade."

"Lestrade knew!"

Lestrade put his hands over his ears. "I did not hear that and I am not affirming it."

"Lestrade?" John shook his head and followed Mycroft and Sherlock out into the hallway. Molly was now alone in the room once again. He caught her words just barely as the door shut.

"Good luck."

He looked at her through the small window in the door and nodded. They were going to need all the luck they could get.

"This is tedious." Sherlock said, leaning against the wall next to the door.

"Do I sense nervousness Sherlock?" John grinned.

"It is part of being human."

"Yes, but on you?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "'You were the best man, the most human... human being that I've ever known.'"

"Excuse me?"

"That's what you said, at my grave."

"You were there? The entire time?"

"Not many could say they attended their own funeral."

"You are a psychopath."

"Sociopath, John, sociopath."

The door opened and Sergeant Donovan poked her head in. "You ready freak? Mr. Holmes is just finishing up with your…I don't even know what to call it."

"Why is he 'Mr. Holmes, and I'm 'freak'? I did a service to my country. Don't you think I deserve…forget it, I don't think I can finish that sentence. Let's go John."

Sally rolled her eyes and didn't wait for them to follow her.

"You know she was almost nice to me while you were dead." John said.

"Well, aren't you glad I came back to life, to save you from fondue parties at Sally's?"

John laughed and followed his friend out.

"As many of you would have heard," Mycroft continued. "There have been rumours that, my brother, Sherlock Holmes, is not quite dead. And I am here to inform you all that these rumours…are true."

The crowd full of reporters and journalist all gasped and began talking at once.

"What does this mean?" asked one.

"Sherlock Holmes has been on an assignment for Her Majesty's Secret Service. We arranged for the false report of the Richard Brook to be told to Miss Riley, so that we can put Sherlock off the map. Moriarty was a real man, dealt with by the government, with assistance from Sherlock Holmes. We needed people to believe that Sherlock was dead and a fraud so that he could help us with a case abroad. The facts of said case are classified."

"Where is Sherlock Holmes now?"

Lestrade cleared his throat. "He is in the building now, and will be joining us shortly. But first we would like to clear some facts for the public. Sherlock Holmes is not a fraud. Sherlock Holmes did not create James Moriarty for his own means. And lastly, _no one_ on the force was aware of the government's intentions. Now, we'd like to bring out Sherlock Holmes and his associate, John Watson to answer some of your questions to the best of their ability."

Lestrade nodded to Donovan and she opened the door. When Sherlock stepped into the room everyone instantly started talking. John could hardly hear himself thinking over the dinl.

"Where have you been for the past three months?" "What was your mission abroad?" "Is it true that you have James Moriarty chained to the radiator in your flat and have been torturing him for three months?" "Can you confirm that you have been in a relationship with Cameron Diaz?" "When can we expect you to return to consulting with the police?"

Sherlock looked at the reporter who asked this. "As soon as possible."

The reporter looked to John. "Did you know that Holmes was alive?"

Mycroft had given John a few lines to say if asked this. "No, I did not. It is good to have my partner back."

"Are you two involved in a romantic relationship?"

"Why does everybody assume that since I call him my partner and I live with him, that we must be…no. No we're not. I'm actually in a relationship."

"With a woman?"

"Yes, with a woman." John could feel that headache coming back. He pointed at Sherlock and stepped back. "Look, he's alive!"

The reporters began to badger Sherlock again, who only answered occasional question while Lestrade and Mycroft spoke the rest of the time. Camera's flashed all around them. John looked up at Sherlock. He wasn't smiling. He was impassive.

"What are you thinking?" John asked quietly as Mycroft answered the question about Cameron Diaz.

"Molly."

"What about her?"

"I feel…like I've done something and forgotten. It was a bad thing. A mistake."

"That's called guilt, Sherlock."

"But what would I have to be guilty about?"

"Well you just about made the poor girl go mad over this whole situation. You should ask her out to dinner."

"What, like a date?" The idea seemed to repulse him.

"No. Like two mates who need to spend some time together."

"Isn't that just encouraging her fixation with me?"

"No. Make it clear that you're doing it as mates."

"Why is this so…difficult?"

"That's life, I'm afraid."

Sherlock sighed. "I think I liked it when I was dead."

"Well that went well." Lestrade said. "Better than expected at least."

"Who is Cameron Diaz?" Sherlock asked.

"American actress." John said.

"Why would I be marrying her?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I just arose from the dead, and all they want is gossip. Morons." He took off toward the lifts.

"At least he didn't say that in the press room." Lestrade said, going the other way.

"Wait, Greg." Lestrade stopped and John leaned closer to talk to him. "Did you have contact with him."

"I—"

"Don't say you didn't know. I know you did."

Lestrade sighed. "Yes."

"But why…why you?"

"I asked myself that question many times. I think it just comes down to the fact that I wasn't as…invested in him as you and Molly—though I know she had something to do with it."

"What do you mean invested?"

"You already saw him as a good man John. So did Molly."

"And you still saw him as a great man who could become a good man?"

"Greatness can lead a person to do many things John. That's what I'm chalking it up to."

"John," Sherlock yelled from the lift area. "I think I just figured out where Mrs. Hudson hid my skull this time."

Lestrade gave John a nod and headed back to work. John went to Sherlock who was standing in the frame of the elevator, keeping it open. Mycroft had disappeared.

"Are you ready?" John asked as he waited to push the lobby button.

"I think it's in the pantry behind the biscuits."

"What?"

"My skull."

"Oh, right." He pushed the button and the elevator doors closed on two men who were ready for anything.


End file.
